


This Threadbare Thing

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, RPF, Sharing a Bed, multichapt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David and Billie travel to Scotland to promote Doctor Who. Tropey and meandering, with angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> beta: kahki820

David bounces his leg while he sits in an overstuffed armchair in the hotel lobby, waiting for Billie to come bounding through the entryway.

Their three-day Scottish press tour is kicking off this afternoon and she is cutting it close, per usual, hopping a flight to Glasgow just that morning. David had taken the train up north a few days ago to visit with his family and have a bit of a holiday before the locomotive that is the Doctor Who press junket roars on.

It’s quiet in the lobby and David feels out of place amongst the modern furnishes, his jeans and t-shirt seeming out of step with the cool colors and crisp lines. He tries to play a few games of Snake on his mobile, but after three succinct losses he gives up and begins clicking through the pre-programed background photos to occupy his fidgety hands.

He’s cleaning out his bloated contact list when the front door finally opens. Through his peripheral vision he sees the bellhop stagger into the lobby one large suitcase in each hand, with a small blonde in too-large clothing trailing behind him.

David’s stomach flutters a bit but he keeps his eyes on his phone, scrolling through his contacts with a furrowed brow, as if he’s composing the most serious and lengthy text anyone has ever written using the arduous T9 function. To his left, she pauses to remove her oversized sunglasses and drop them into her purse, squinting at the light as she takes in the small space.

Billie is striding toward reception when she notices him, and he can’t quite tell but he’d bet anything a devious smirk spreads across her face. She takes three more steps and then she disappears from view. A few seconds later two hands are covering his eyes.

He can’t help but chuckle as he lifts his hands to cover hers.

“Hmm, now who could this be? Hands are quite small, so must be a woman. Skin feels well hydrated but cynical, so must be a Londoner.” She giggles and he feels her hair brush across the side of his neck. “Ah, perfume smells expensive. I was gonna guess that it’s Bills, but someone on a BBC salary can’t possibly afford designer fragrances.”

She laughs louder and kisses his cheek, then drops her hands from his face.

“Your accent sounds thicker here.”

She sits on the glass coffee table in front of him, knees nudging his. He beams at her and can’t help but lean forward to kiss her cheek as well.

“Bet your accent is thicker in _Swindon_.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She pretends to lunge at him, but wraps her arms around his shoulders instead, giving him a quick squeeze.

“I’ve missed you and your daft face.”

“It’s only been five days.”

“I know. Still.” She straightens and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, grinning down at him. “Better check in. Will you carry my bags to my room, Mr. Tennant?”

“Depends.” He stands and follows her to the desk. “Are you a good tipper?”

***

David bounces on her mattress, making it squeak, while she dabs makeup on her face, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror by the window.

“Photos aren’t until tomorrow, you know,” he says.

He’s suddenly feeling restless, watching her get ready while sitting on a bed she’ll sleep in later, while he’s in a room across the hall. It’s the same set-up that they’re used to at the Saint David’s Hotel in Cardiff, but rather than feeling comforting it just puts him on edge.

That, and the fact that they were due downstairs five minutes ago.

“I know. Doesn’t mean I can turn up to an interview looking shit, though.”

“You never look shit.”

She gives him a skeptical look over her shoulder while she opens a tube of mascara.

“What about after the pub quiz last week, when that bloke spilled his pint down my front.”

David swallows and stares at his shoes while the scene plays back in his mind. It had been an honest accident -- the man turned from the bar right as she stepped into his path -- but he couldn’t help the protectiveness that lead him to place his hand on the guy’s chest to back him away from her.

After the man apologized and rushed away, David turned to find Billie frowning down at her soaked t-shirt, clinging to her breasts and drawing his eyes straight to her pebbled nipples. She was laughing, saying something about how beer is supposed to be good for split ends anyway, but he’d been too distracted to notice.

He shrugs. “You pull off wet well.”

Billie snorts and doubles over, clutching her stomach as she giggles.

“Stop making me laugh! Now I need to do this eye over. Will you grab me a tissue?”

He brings the whole box from the loo and she rolls her eyes, taking one and cleaning the smudged makeup from her skin. As she moves the wand over her lashes David stares at her reflection, mesmerized.

How could she ever think she looks shit?

“You alright?”

She’s peering at him in the mirror as she screws the mascara tube closed.

“Yep! Yep, just -- dunno how you do that without poking yourself in the eye.”

She grins and turns around, jabbing his ribs with the tube as she walks to the dresser.

“Oh, I’m an old pro, Teninch.”

He sits back down on the bed, cheeks red from being caught out. He realizes the tissue box is still in his hands and stands to return it to the loo when Billie grips the hem of her top and pulls it over her head.

It’s one quick, fluid motion but to him it lasts for ages, the way her hips roll forward as her arms move up, peeling away fabric to reveal the smooth skin at her navel and then a lacy bra. She dangles the shirt from her fingers, grinning at him with her tongue between her teeth, and David blinks and flushes for the second time in as many minutes.

“Thought I’d wear plaid for the interviews,” she says, picking up a blue and red shirt. “When in Scotland, yeah?”

He coughs and nods. David wants to move but feels like his Converse are nailed down to the carpet, until her gaze falls on the box of tissues in his hand. He glares at it, annoyed that it disturbed whatever fun she was having, but also relieved that it gives him an out.

Clearing his throat, he returns it to the loo and shuts the door behind him. After washing his hands for the third time he pokes his head out to find her fully dressed, complete with a cocked brow and a hand on her hip.

“Come on,” she says, looping her arm through his. “We’re gonna be late.”

***

Their arms stay linked throughout the short cab ride, but she’s typing away on her mobile with her free hand and doesn’t say much.

He wants to ask who she’s texting but can’t summon the nerve, in case the answer is a boyfriend, or worse, her agent. He knew from the start that she won’t be back next season but, well, he doesn’t want to pry.

(He doesn’t want to think about doing this without her, either.)

She shoves the phone into her leather bag just as the cab pulls to a stop. Grinning up at him, she squeezes his arm.

“So how many times was it that you unsuccessfully auditioned for Taggart? You know, just in case they ask.”

David groans as he opens the door and tugs her onto the pavement.

“Watch it, Piper.” He bumps her hip with his. “We’re on my pitch now.”

“Aye.”

***

Interviews take up the entire afternoon, and spill over into the evening.They sit in a conference room at another hotel across town, smiles growing stiff as one journalist after another asks the same trite questions, as if they all conspired in an attempt to bore them to tears.

David almost wishes they’d just held a press conference instead, but on second thought that’s a terror he doesn’t want to relive anytime soon; Billie had steered him through the last one, but even with her guidance and encouragements he felt a bit crap. (It didn’t help that everyone in the room was under her thrall, including him.)

When it’s finally time to break for dinner they’re handed take-away menus and ushered to a nearby kitchenette, with a table and chairs and percolating pot of coffee. Billie’s eyes widen and she pulls two mugs from the cupboards while David tells the press manager their dinner orders.

Then there’s a clattering and a hiss and Billie yelling, “Shit shit shit!”

David turns to find her clutching her wrist, an overturned mug and a pool of steaming black liquid spilling over the counter. He rushes to her and places a hand on her waist to guide her to the sink, where he turns the cold tap on full blast.

“Hold it under here,” he says, gently easing her wrist free from her other hand and moving it under the stream.

She winces when the water first hits the burn but in an instant she relaxes, the tension on her face dissipating.

“That’s loads better, thank you.”

“Sure.” He walks to the freezer and pulls out a tray of ice. “Did it get you anywhere else?”

“Splattered on my shirt a bit,” she says, glancing down. “Good thing it’s just interviews today.”

“Hah, yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

He rummages through the drawers until he finds a roll of cling film and tears off a large sheet. Then he places a handful of ice cubes in the center and bunches the plastic around them.

“Took a first aid course when I was in school,” he says, turning off the tap and leading her to the table. “It’s important to keep the burned skin cool to prevent it from getting worse.”

She sits and offers him her arm, which he cradles in his hand. There’s a bright red splotch on the inside of her right wrist but it shows no signs of blistering, so he relaxes a bit.

“Sorta looks like a star,” she says, as he covers the mark with the makeshift ice pack. “Was thinking of getting a tattoo there but maybe I’ll have a cool scar instead.”

“And just how would you justify Rose Tyler suddenly having a tattoo mid-season?”

“Please, they can cover those so easily with makeup these days.”

“That’d mean more hours spent in the dreaded make up chair.”

“Well, maybe I’ll get it when Rose has… moved on.”

She smiles at him but glances away a little too quickly. David shifts his weight from one foot to the other, watching a drop of condensation slide down her skin and into the crook of her elbow.

“Don’t want you to. For the record,” he says, scratching his jaw. “Move on, that is.”

He’s cringing at the way he fumbled his words and mad at her for broaching the subject, the one they’d had a quiet understanding not to mention, or so he’d thought.

It had started out as a laugh, their friendship, forged over a roast and mash in Julie’s kitchen. But as time went on something grew between them, binding them together, only acknowledged when their fingers touched on a passed mug of tea or when their eyes found each other across a crowded room.

He doesn’t quite know what it is, this threadbare thing, but it’s palpable and delicate and will be ripped from the seams when she leaves. And he doesn’t want to face it, not yet; especially not now, in a dingy hotel kitchen in his hometown.

“Was planning on moving on at the end of last series, you know.” He forces himself to meet her eyes and they’re soft and sad and make his heart drop. She covers his hand atop the ice with hers. “Then I met you.”

He opens his mouth to ask her, needs to hear her say it -- say _something_ \-- when the door opens and white and red cartons are placed on the table. Billie takes control of the ice and he sits across from her and doles out two portions of noodles and szechuan chicken.

“I read that holding utensils with your non-dominant hand is good for your brain,” she says when they’re alone again, arranging chopsticks in her left hand.

The noodles slip free on her first few attempts, but soon she gets the hang of it. Unsupported, the ice pack keeps falling into her lap.

“Here.” He motions for her to rest her arm on the table and layers several paper napkins over her skin before placing the ice back on. “Don’t want you to get frostbite, do we?”

They grin at each other and continue eating in silence. He still wants to ask her what it means to her, this thing they’re playing at, but after speaking for hours on end the easy silence feels too good to break.

She smiles at him as she slurps a noodle into her mouth and suddenly the room seems less dreary.

He keeps his left hand on the ice so it doesn’t slide.

***

When they finally step into the chilly Glasgow night there’s a plaster on her wrist, one he found in a dusty hotel first aid kit after their last interview.

They gaze out of separate windows in the cab back to their hotel, but there’s more tension in the silence this time. He glances over at her a few times but her eyes are stuck somewhere in the middle distance, looking but not seeing.

He walks her to her room like he does most nights in Cardiff and his stomach twists with sudden homesickness. She kisses him on the cheek and walks inside, door closing quietly behind her.

David goes into his room across the hall and begins to get ready for bed, that restlessness swirling in his gut again. Something’s nagging him, like a regret he’d momentarily forgotten, only this time when he focuses he can’t bring it to his mind.

He gets into bed and starts flipping through the channels, hardly paying attention as he thinks back on the day. The interviews went well and they had a laugh, but something seemed off; she was too quiet, her smile faded too quickly.

Sighing, he clicks the power button on the remote and turns off the bedside lamp. He closes his eyes, but when sleep doesn’t come he settles for watching streaks of light glide across the ceiling from the traffic on the street below.

It’s oddly comforting, and his eyes are finally growing heavy when there’s a quiet knock at the door.

He doesn’t get up at first, convinced that it’s one of those phantom noises that toes the boundaries between consciousness; a sound so real that your body wakes you, just in case.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he stares at the door without breathing, eyes trained at the sliver of light seeping in under the threshold. Then he sees two small shadows move and hears the knock again.

His heart stammers when he opens the door to find her there, in a men’s Chelsea t-shirt and miss-matched socks.

“My bed’s all lumpy,” she says, biting her lip. “How’s yours?”

He looks over his shoulder at the object in question as if he’ll find the answer there.

“Oh it’s fine, I guess. Hotel bed, you know.” He scratches his neck, swallowing back the question that’s inching up his throat. “Do you want to swap?” he asks instead.

“No no, I’d feel too guilty,” she says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing down at her toes, one in stripes the other in dots. “Photoshoot tomorrow, can’t have you with dark circles under your eyes, can we? I just thought, well, it’s a big bed…”

David runs a hand over his face in an attempt to hide the grin that’s forming and steps back, holding the door open. She squeezes his arm as she walks past him and around the bed, peeling back the covers on the other side.

“Traffic’s louder in your room,” she says as he climbs in next to her. “It’s soothing.”

David turns onto his side to look at her, a good two feet between them. Her hair is splayed out on the pillow and there are faint smears of mascara under her eyes and the glow of passing headlights dance across her cheekbones. He can’t help but reach out and trace a streak as it moves across her jaw, trying to pin down the moment before it’s gone.

“Such a city girl,” he says, as she leans into his touch. “Lulled by street noise.”

She turns her head and presses her lips to the palm of his hand, a soft kiss that he would cherish even if they weren’t in bed together at the end of a melancholy day.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she asks, and he brings his hand back to his side of the bed. “Like, ten years from now, where do you think you’ll be?”

“Ehm, dunno.” He scratches his neck, having a hard time looking past this moment let alone ten years down the line. “Hopefully still acting, I suppose. Maybe back in the theatre, assuming I’m not still the Doctor, of course.”

Billie grins, hugging the duvet to her chest.

“You’d stay on Doctor Who for ten years?”

“Sure. If they let me.”

“I think even you would get bored eventually.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Suppose it would depend on who my companions are.” The line gets a giggle, as he intended, but her eyes are sad. “How about you -- what’s your life like ten years from now?”

“It’s all a bit blurry.” She chews her thumbnail. “Hopefully married with kids and all that.”

“With…?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Dunno if he even wants kids.”

“Right.”

Billie rolls onto her back and closes her eyes, pulling the blankets up under her chin. A few minutes pass and he thinks she might have fallen asleep when she breaks the silence with a whisper.

“I’d have stayed on longer, if I’d have known.”

David takes in her profile as his chest swells, the niggling homesickness vanished.

“I know.”

She turns back onto her side and opens her eyes, stretching her hand out between them.

“We’ll be okay though, right?”

He reaches across and twines his fingers with hers.

“Yeah, of course.”

They grin at each other before her eyes flutter closed. A few moments later her grip on his hand relaxes and her breathing becomes slow and heavy.

David drifts off to sleep not long later, hand going slack in hers.

***

He wakes on his side to sunlight wafting through the curtains, to her knee inching between his thighs, to her arm draped over his chest and her breasts against his back. It’s a peaceful moment and he lets himself live there for a few beats, his hand instinctively moving to cover hers in its place over his heart.

But then, despite his best efforts to keep reality at bay, it fills his mind, rough and insistent, and he gently shakes her arm.

“Bill,” he whispers, because she might be asleep, because she probably thinks he’s someone else.

“I’m awake,” she murmurs, lips brushing the nape of his neck. “Can we cuddle until the alarm goes off?”

He distantly thinks it’s a bad idea, to taunt himself with something he can never truly have, but she’s a mistake he will always indulge.

“Yeah. Alright.”

His arm returns to cover hers as she sighs and nuzzles his shoulderblade. David is weighing the merits of turning off the alarm when sleep pulls him back under its shroud.

***

The blaring alarm ten minutes later is the most jarring experience in his entire life, a title it holds for five seconds until it is replaced by Billie’s bum wriggling against him.

“Hit snooze,” she groans, pulling the duvet over their heads.

David reaches behind him and swats at the alarm clock until it falls off the nightstand and, thankfully, the noise stops. He then nestles back under the blankets, unthinkingly curling his arm around her waist and grinding his erection against her back.

It’s warm and dark under the covers, the air thick with the scent of sleep on her skin and the remnants of yesterday’s perfume. He keeps his eyes closed as he takes it all in; the way her body fits so perfectly with his, the rise and fall of her back against his chest, the soft curve of her hipbone beneath his fingertips.

The last detail causes lucidity to rush back around him and he slides his hand out from beneath her shirt and inches his hips away from her body, hoping she hadn’t been aware of his morning stiffy.

“Come back,” she whines as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress and sits up. “I’m cold.”

Her fingers close around his hand and he squeezes them without looking at her.

“Time to get up,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m gonna pop in the shower.”

By the time he finishes the bed is empty.


	2. Chapter 2

Billie’s already in the lobby when he steps out of the elevator, looking fresh and bright in a yellow jacket with two paper coffee cups in her hands.

“Tea, just milk,” she says, handing him one.

“Brilliant, thanks.”

“The concierge told me about this little cafe next door.” She blows into the opening of her lid, dispersing the rising steam. “It’s very quaint and _Scottish_.”

She says the last word with a brogue and a grin, but he can only offer a weak smile in return.

“Should’ve knocked on my door, I’d have come with you.”

“Oh, sorry.” She toys with her earring. “Would have done but I thought I heard your shower still running.”

David nods and sips his tea, trying to keep his face neutral. There’s no way she could’ve heard the water running since he had taken the fastest and coldest shower known to man, but maybe it was an honest mistake. The guest next door could have been showering, for instance, or perhaps he was running the tap while shaving.

Of course, it’s much more likely that she regrets spending the night in his room and wanted some time apart from him, but he decides not to linger on that possibility.

“Think that’s our car.” Billie sets off toward the street and lowers her sunglasses. “It’s chilly out, hope they have space heaters at this shoot. Sure you don’t want to grab a jacket?”

David opens the door for her and shivers as a gust of wind hits him.

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

***

There are, in fact, no space heaters on the windy balcony where the photoshoot is taking place and it’s all David can do to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Told you to bring a jacket,” Billie says in a singsong voice.

She winks and takes his hands in hers, rubbing her palms over his fingers in an attempt to warm him up.

“Didn’t realize we’d be in some sort of sodding wind tunnel,” he says, scowling at the cityscape below.

They still hadn’t mentioned last night, or this morning, but after a few silent moments in the car as Billie tapped away on her mobile, any lingering awkwardness dissipated as he pointed out the sights that they passed. It’s a good thing, too, because the photographer has had them posing like newlyweds all morning.

“Just thought you’d be made of sturdier stock since you grew up here and everything.”

She smirks at him and brings his hands to her lips, cupping her palms around his fingers as she blows a stream of warm air over his skin.

“I was!” He chuckles, eyes on their joined hands, which she has started rubbing again. “London made me soft.”

“And what about Cardiff?”

“Made me appreciate London.”

She laughs and lets his hands drop, then tugs on the sleeve of her jacket.

“Feels good.”

“Hm?”

“The cool air on my burn. It’s almost as nice as that ice pack you made me.”

He cradles her wrist and they both inspect the glossy red welt.

“You’re right, it does sorta have five points, doesn’t it?”

“Told you.”

“Don’t think it will scar, though.”

She bites her lip and blinks up at him.

“Too bad.”

The photographer positions them for the next shot, with David’s front against Billie’s back and his arms wrapped around her. She initially covers his arm with hers but flinches as her burn hits his watch, so she move her hand to hold down the lapel of her jacket against the wind.

“This feels familiar,” she whispers, as the photographer changes lenses.

David clears his throat and shifts and is about to step away when her fingers close around his.

“Stay,” she says. “I’m cold.”

He can’t help but laugh, then, as he wraps his arms around her again and rests his cheek against her ear.

“That _sounds_ familiar.”

The photographer takes a few more shots of them like that, demanding they stay just as they are despite the BBC press agent’s concerns that they look a little too cozy for a children’s show.

The sky begins to darken as rainclouds roll in and they take another break so the photographer can attach a larger flash for the last few shots. Billie turns in David’s embrace and wraps her arms around him, shivering and tucking her head under his chin.

“Why did you get up so fast? This morning, I mean.”

“I know how long it takes you to get ready -- reckoned we should get a head start.”

“Dave…”

“And I know how you tend to linger in the shower, so I wanted to get in first before you used up all the hot water in the bloody hotel.”

He’s full of shit and he knows she knows it, but he can’t tell her the truth so sarcasm is the next best thing.

“Was it… was it not alright? Did I make you uncomfortable? Because-”

“No, it’s not that.”

He stares up at the clouds and tries to will the storm to break so he can get out of this conversation before he says too much.

“I wasn’t trying to… I mean, I started off on my side of the bed and woke up like that and, well, it felt nice so I figured…”

“No, no, it was nice.” He swallows thickly, hoping to force down the words. “Things just got a bit… muddled. For me.”

Billie leans back and looks at him with a furrowed brow. She opens her mouth to speak when the sky opens up, sheets of rain lashing at their faces.

They’re rushed inside and there’s talk of waiting out the shower, but the photographer thinks he’s got what he needs so they head back to the hotel. The press agent rides in the car with them and babbles on at length about some stuffy-sounding Michelin-star restaurant the concierge has recommended for dinner.

Just then, as if by fate, David’s mobile vibrates in his pocket.

“Oh shit, I forgot,” he says, reading the screen. “One of my mates from school is having a party tonight and I promised I’d stop by.”

The press agent eyes him warily and Billie gives him a pleading look.

“You’re both welcome to join me -- it’s just a wee bonfire on the outskirts of town.”

“Don’t think I packed the right shoes,” the press agent says.

Billie grins. “Count me in.”

***

The rain has stopped and the sun has set by the time the hotel doorman hails them a cab, which takes its time winding through busy thoroughfares that give way to narrow roads as they near the edge of town.

“Can’t believe you packed these,” David says, tapping her green wellie with his trainer.

“I know how rainy it can get up here -- I’m nothing if not prepared.” She smiles at him and toys with the zip on his jacket. “And I’m glad to see you’ve dressed more sensibly this time.”

He snatches the zip from her fingers and moves it all the way up, scrunching his neck down like a turtle so that only his nose and eyes are visible, eliciting a peel of giggles from her. For the first time all day it feels like things between them are back to normal and they’ve returned to their status quo of flirting without intent.

David distantly worries that booze will threaten this balance and wonders where she’ll choose to sleep tonight, but he stamps those thoughts out every time they flicker hot and sharp in his gut.

“So, what are your friends like then?”

She rests her leg on the leather seat as she turns to face him, knee nudging his thigh.

“They’re brutes the lot of them, better keep your distance Piper.”

“Oh, come on,” she says, shoving his shoulder. “If you like them they can’t be that bad. And you’ve proven you can handle anyone who gets too handsy.”

“At least if anyone spills beer on you tonight it’ll just slide off your raincoat.”

“Ah, the benefits of an outdoor party.”

“Not a party, a _bonfire_.”

Billie smiles at him and bites her thumbnail.

“I swear your accent is getting even thicker.”

“Dunna what you’re on about lass,” he says in an embellished brogue. “But I’d watch your tongue because we’re nearly there.”

He reaches out to tickle her ribs and she shrieks, squirming to get away from his hands. She fights back, fingers dancing up his sides under his coat and he yelps, grabbing her elbows and pushing her back onto the seat.

They’re both panting and grinning as he hovers over her, faces inches apart.

“Truce?” she asks, or he thinks so, anyway. Her lips are moving, of that much he’s certain, and they’re wet and shiny, like she’s just licked them.

It’s enough to make that spark flare in his belly and, this time, he doesn’t even try to smother it. He leans closer until his nose presses into her cheek and he thinks he hears her gasp, feels her breath hot on his lips.

Time slows and it’s just them at the top of the rollercoaster, the edge of the diving board, and all they have to do now is wait for gravity to take them down.

“We’re here.”

It’s a few solid seconds before David realizes that the cab has stopped, that there’s the scent of smoke in the air. He sits up quickly and shoves his hands into his pockets, searching for his wallet.

By the time he pays the fare Billie’s already starting down the path toward the park, cigarette dangling from her lips.

“Feels appropriate,” she says when he catches up. “I’ve been dying for one all day.”

He pulls it from her mouth and takes a long drag, exhaling a thick stream of smoke as he slides it between her two fingers. Her face is the picture of scandal as he licks his lips, tasting her lip gloss as his lungs burn from her preferred brand of carcinogenic.

“Thought you don’t smoke?”

He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. They’ve reached the edge of the park, now, towering bonfire in the center with groups of partygoers scattered about the grass, congregating around coolers. The scent of the fire makes him nostalgic and he takes her hand in his.

“Feel like living dangerously tonight.”

So much for the status quo.

***

David’s mates, as it turns out, are much more interested in talking to Billie than catching up with him.

He doesn’t mind, really, as it allows him to focus on necking lukewarm lager as he watches her charm everyone who crosses her path. It’s like art, the way she enchants strangers so effortlessly, making each one feel unique and important; and he can see it on their faces when they walk away -- that they’re each better for having known her, even if only for a little while.

It’s a certain kind of grace, he thinks, as he watches light from the fire flicker across her face and, in that moment, he truly understands just how much he loves her.

“Alright mate?”

His friend Andrew stumbles into his line of sight and clanks the bottom of his bottle onto the top of David’s, making his beer foam and spill over onto his hand.

“Oi, thanks for that,” David says, patting him on the shoulder. “See you haven’t changed much, have you?”

“That’s kind of you to say, but I’ve gained about two stone.” Andrew chuckles and rubs his substantial stomach. “And there’s the matter of this new hardware.”

He wiggles his left hand in front of David’s face, thick wedding band on his finger.

“Oh that’s right, congratulations are in order! Where is the missus, anyway?”

“She’s around here somewhere.” Andrew rolls his eyes. “Wish I’d have known you were bringing your co-star, then I might’ve left her at home.”

David grimaces.

“Think you’re having delusions of grandeur there, mate.”

“Pardon me, forgot I was speaking to _Shakespeare_.” Andrew rests a meaty hand on David’s shoulder. “How about you, having _delusions of grandeur_ with anyone?”

He opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Seamus, who hands them each a fresh beer.

“Another round lads?”

“Aye.”

“Cheers.”

“Don’t let me interrupt -- what were you lot talking about?”

“David was about to regale us with the details of his love life.”

“Ah, go on, then.”

“Ehm.” David scratches his neck and takes a long pull of beer. “Not much to tell, really.”

“Oh come on, you’re rich and famous now and you _still_ can’t nab any girls?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Afraid not.”

“Mate, that’s pathetic.” Seamus snickers and elbows Andrew. “Is he having us on? You’re having us on, eh David?”

He kicks at the dirt, cursing his booze-clouded brain for not thinking up a way out of this conversation. He feels foolish for even coming, for thinking anything had changed -- he’s still that same theatre geek from Ralston. Always would be.

“Look I’m not having you on, it’s just that-”

“Oh, there you are!” Billie wraps her arms around him and stands on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thought I lost you -- was worried I’d have to hitchhike back to the hotel.”

Andrew and Seamus’ mouths are hanging open, and David would bet his probably is too.

“Oh we were just,” he stammers, gesturing toward his mates with his beer, “ehm, just catching up.”

She squeezes his waist and turns toward the two men, smiling widely.

“Hiya.”

“Right, this is Seamus and that’s Andrew. Mates from school.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you both,” she says, shaking their hands. “Babe, could you get me another beer? I’m parched.”

“Sure, of course.”

She drops her arms from his waist and squeezes his hand, giving him a subtle wink. By the time David returns with two fresh beers his friends have that look on their faces, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. Across the park he spots Andrew’s wife, glaring at him with her arms crossed.

“Think your missus might be ready to go,” David says, nodding in her direction as he hands Billie her drink.

“Oh, is that your wife?” Billie takes a sip of lager. “I’d love to meet her.”

“Actually, ehm, I better run,” Andrew says nervously. “Lovely talking to you.”

“You too!” She smiles and squeezes his arm. “We’ll give you a ring next time we’re in town.”

David and Seamus chuckle as they watch their friend jog off in the direction of his now-retreating wife. Billie laughs too and slips her hand under David’s jacket, scratching her nails down his back.

“Can we go closer to the fire? It’s getting chilly.”

“Of course,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulder and playing along. “Good seeing you, Seamus.”

David and Billie both start to giggle as soon as they’re out of earshot, nearly doubling over when they finally come to a stop next to the fire.

“The looks on their faces!”

“I know!” Billie grins. “They looked like fish, mouths flapping open.”

She impersonates their dumbfounded expressions and David almost spits out his beer, steadying himself with a hand on her shoulder while he laughs.

“Thank you for doing that,” he says when he collects himself. “You were brilliant.”

She shrugs and kicks at a stone with her wellie.

“Couldn’t let them have a go at you like that. Besides- Oh shit!” She lunges at him, a bit unsteady, and wraps her arms around his waist. “Seamus is looking!”

“Bills, you know people who are going out don’t hug _all_ the time, right?”

“Shut up.” She giggles, pressing her face against his neck. “I’m a bit drunk.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

They stand in each other’s arms for a while, sipping their beer and swaying to the music playing from an old boombox on the other side of the park. Billie shivers and David unzips his jacket so she can cuddle closer for more body heat, like they do during particularly cold night shoots.

He closes the jacket around her as best he can and holds her tightly, continuing to rock back and forth until he feels her lips on his jaw.

Her eyes are clear and wide when he meets her gaze and he feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

“Bill.” He swallows. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t.” Her voice is soft and smooth, like the tone she uses with her boyfriend when she doesn’t think he can hear. “Weren’t you going to? In the cab?”

He nods shallowly, looking away.

“What’s changed?”

“I-” He flounders, because nothing’s changed and he _wants_ her, he wants her more than ever, but she’s not his and she’s _leaving_ and even though he’s drunk he knows he’ll never be able to recover from once having had her. “We shouldn’t.”

She leans forward and plants a line of three wet kisses along the column of his throat, her hands smoothing down his back.

“Done a few things we shouldn’t this weekend, haven’t we?” she asks, voice muffled by his skin. “Can I tell you a secret?”

It takes him a moment to find his voice, what with her tongue swirling around his earlobe, so he cups her jaw and eases her back so he can meet her gaze.

“Yeah.”

She chews her lip and studies his face. There’s rare hesitation in her eyes and he’s already made up his mind.

“My bed wasn’t lumpy.”

Her voice is barely audible over the din that surrounds them, fire crackling and boombox blaring and partygoers shouting. But he hears her, clear as day, and it’s not what she says that matters so much as the way she says it, like three short words she’ll tell someone else on the other end of the phone.

He nuzzles her cheek and leans her back, hand splayed across her shoulders, and when he closes his eyes it’s like they’re back in the cab, air thick with staticky anticipation.

There are words clawing up his throat again, there’s three of them, too, and they won’t do any good but there’s alcohol in his blood and her breath on his lips and if not now then fucking when?

“Please don’t go.”

She’s shaking in his arms but her lips are hot when he finally, _finally_ , presses his to hers. He takes his time, kissing her slowly and waiting for the guilt to settle, but it never comes; her touch feels less like giving in and more like absolution.

Her hands fist the fabric of his shirt as he sucks on her bottom lip and grazes it with his teeth, nipping harder when she gasps. Then he buries his hand in her hair as he changes the angle of their kiss, tentatively easing his tongue past her parted lips.

She tastes like beer and tobacco and lip gloss, and her tongue is wet and hot and eager. Their kisses grow breathy and sloppy as they cling to one another, insatiable and needy. Then there’s a sound, a quiet sigh caught at the back of her throat, and it’s enough to make his lazy partial erection twitch in his pants.

He kisses her gently a few more times before he breaks away, but it doesn’t do any good -- she’s panting and flushed with bleary eyes and swollen lips and it only makes his cock pulse more.

“Fuck,” is the best he can muster as he runs his thumb along her bottom lip.

“Yeah.” She grins, tongue caught between her teeth. “Fuck.”

***

Seven of them manage to pile in a cab back to the city center, and so, purely as a space-saving measure, Billie winds up in his lap.

Initially he’s quite pleased by this placement, but each pothole they hit and each time she shifts in her seat is problematic for his pants region, and after a few minutes he tries to ease her down toward his knees.

“You don’t have to hide it,” she whispers, sliding closer on his legs. “Not like I haven’t felt it before.”

David balks, but before he can ask a follow-up question her attention is elsewhere, laughing at some asinine thing one of their fellow travelers has said. He tries to remember how many drinks he’s had as he places his hand on the inside of her knee, counting to himself as his fingers trace the seam of her jeans along her thigh.

He’s mentally debating if it was six or seven beers when he feels her fingers on his wrist, stopping his hand just inches short of its intended destination.

“When did you feel it before?”

She blinks, brow furrowed, until her eyes gleam in understanding.

“Why are you asking a question you know the answer to?”

He leans back against the headrest and tightens his grip on her thigh.

“What should I be asking, then?”

She puts her hands on his shoulders to help ease herself up, then settles back down slowly, bum pressing against his fly. His hips arch up toward her and she smirks.

“You should ask how it made me feel.”

David leans forward and brushes his lips along her collarbone, scraping her skin with his teeth. She sighs and rests her cheek on his head, nails digging into his shoulders.

He’s about to ask her when he slowly, reluctantly, becomes aware of the quiet snickering coming from the other side of the cab. He considers ignoring it when there’s a bright flash aimed in their direction.

“Hey, that’s out of order -- delete it now,” he says, glaring at the bloke who’s stuffing a camera in his girlfriend’s bag. “Do it or I’m taking the camera.”

The girlfriend pulls the camera from her purse and hands it over. David turns it on and flips to the photo, thumb hovering over the trashcan icon. His hesitation catches Billie’s attention and they stare at it together; it’s like he’s looking at a photo from another life, or an alternate universe, the way his hand is at the apex of her thighs and his is mouth on her neck and her eyes are closed, want written across her face.

Taking the camera from his hands, Billie turns it off and removes the memory card.

“We’re taking this, in case there are any more on there.”

The bloke groans and David smirks, fishing 50 quid from his pocket.

“Here,” he says, handing him the wad of notes. “Buy a new one.”

***

The remainder of the cab ride seems to take hours, and by the time they make it back to David’s room he’s worried he’s completely sober -- that is until he tries to take his shoe off and nearly topples over.

Billie giggles, easily shucking her jacket and stepping out of her wellies. David’s eyes are on her as he struggles with the laces on his other shoe, mesmerized by how she grips the hem of her sweater and pulls it over her head in one fluid motion, like she’d done yesterday morning.

He deflates a little when he realizes she has a tank top on underneath and she grins at him, sitting on the bed.

“I was still cold from the photoshoot, figured I should dress in layers.”

“Always so practical,” he says, finally wrestling his shoe off and shedding his jacket.

He sits down next to her and suddenly feels shy, now that they’re back where they started. It hits him that that’s where he’ll be tomorrow morning -- back at square one. But he decides it’s worth it, even if it will hurt -- at least they’ll have had this one time.

He’s jolted from his thoughts when the mattress shifts as Billie straddles him, settling down on his thighs. She leans forward, pressing her breasts against his chest, and whispers in his ear.

“Good. Hot. Wet.”

David’s hands grip her waist as he tries to make sense of her words.

“What?”

“That’s how it made me feel, this morning.”

She kisses his neck and shimmies even closer, grinding her hips against his erection in tight circles.

“Fuck, Bill.”

He rests his forehead on her shoulder and slides his hands beneath her top and up her back, cursing again when he doesn't find a bra.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to get out of bed,” she says, breathing shallow. “Even if it wasn’t for me, I just liked…”

“Of course it was for you.”

He leans back to look at her, cupping her breasts through her top and feeling her hardened nipples beneath his thumbs. She sighs and her eyelids flutter.

“Did you think of me in the shower?” she asks, meeting his gaze again.

“Yes.”

He pulls her shirt over her head and palms her bare breasts, feeling his cock jump at the sight of them in his hands. Bending, he takes her nipple in his mouth and sucks until her nails dig into his neck.

“Did you make yourself come in your hand?”

David swears and flips her over onto the mattress, rutting against her a few times before stripping off his shirt and working on the fly of her jeans. He shakes his head.

“Thought you might still be out there so I turned the water on cold.”

He peels her jeans off her and then she’s pushing him onto his back, sitting on his knees as she unfastens his belt.

“Too bad,” she says, tugging his trousers and pants from his hips. “Thought about you doing that while I was showering.”

David gapes at her and she bites her lip, wrapping her fingers around the base of his cock.

“You- you what?”

“And it’s hard to make myself come while standing, mind.” She pumps him steadily, smoothing her thumb over his tip and smearing the pre-come. “But this morning was quick, thanks to you.”

She winks as she lowers her mouth onto him, taking him in as far as she can and sucking on the way back up. He bunches her hair in his fist to hold it out of her face, panting as he watches her blow him, his thighs shaking from the effort it takes not to thrust into her mouth.

When she swirls her tongue around his tip he has to push her away, rolling her onto her back and easing his hips between her thighs, grinding his cock against her damp knickers.

“Didn’t this morning, but I have before,” he says, shifting to slide her pants past her ankles. “Thought about you.” He lowers himself down onto his stomach, kissing the inside of her thigh. “Imagined what you would taste like.” He licks the length of her slit and she whimpers, fingers tangling in his hair. “Imagined what you’d sound like when you come.”

He teases her with his tongue, just barely entering her over and over, amazed at how fucking wet she is for him. Then he licks a trail upwards to skirt around her clit and suck on her flesh, but never touching where he knows she wants. He keeps it up, repeating the pattern, until she’s whining and arching off the mattress, trying to move herself closer to his mouth.

When he begins sliding two fingers into her she gasps and props herself up on her elbows.

“Fuck, please.”

Her voice is husky and her eyes are pleading and he holds her gaze as he flattens his tongue against her clit. She swears again and drops back onto the bed, resting her heels on his back and arching against his mouth as he sets up a steady rhythm, fingers pistoning.

“God oh god oh god, there _yes_ theretherethere.”

He’s curling his fingers inside her and sucking on her clit in earnest when she breaks, clawing at the duvet cover as she chokes out breathy moans that have him rutting against the mattress in search of some relief.

She covers her face with her arms as she takes long, deep breaths, but David pulls her hands away and beams at her, brushing a stray strand of hair off her flushed cheek.

“Did that live up to your imagination?” she asks, smoothing her fingers up his arm.

“You have no idea.”

He looks around to get his bearings and realizes she’s lying diagonally on the mattress, head at the foot of the bed. Rather than move her, he reaches back for a pillow and eases it under her head.

“Such a gentleman,” she murmurs against his lips as he kisses her, slowly at first and then more urgently.

Billie reaches between them to pump his cock as he trails his lips down her neck, positioning himself between her legs. He cups her cheek as she lines him up with her entrance, a hushed sound escaping her lips as he pushes his tip into her.

“Now,” she breathes, arching up and pressing her breasts to his chest. “Go go go, now.”

David grips her shoulders as he slowly enters her, watching as her eyes flutter closed and her mouth drifts open. When he meets resistance he pauses, then rocks his hips forward, slipping in even deeper. Billie gasps and opens her eyes, leaning up to meet his lips as he begins moving inside her.

After a few minutes her hands leave his hips and he realizes she’s reached down to grab her ankles, crossing them behind his back and allowing him to push into her even further. He picks up speed and she gets louder -- soft, breathy sounds giving way to throaty moans and mumbled pleas.

David props himself up on one arm so he can palm her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He’s not sure how much longer he can last, but her moans are getting higher and her breathing is staccato and he thinks he’ll just be able to eke it out, to let her come again, when she’s pushing against his chest and shaking her head.

“Wait, wait,” she pants, pushing him away until he slips out.

“What’s wrong?” He rolls onto his side next to her, resting his hand on her stomach. “You alright?”

She takes a deep breath and grins cheekily, then turns onto her side facing away from him.

“Wanna come like this,” she says, peeking at him over her shoulder.

He’s confused for another moment but eventually catches on, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing his chest to her back, easing his cock into her from behind. It’s awkward at first and he can’t get deep enough, but then he lifts his knee over her thigh and the leverage does the trick -- he’s driving into her again and she’s making those same noises, reaching behind them to grip his arse, fingers digging into his skin.

Resting his cheek on her pillow, his hand gripping her hipbone, David can almost imagine that it’s this morning, like he hadn’t spooked and jolted out of bed; like he’d let his hand drift higher to cup her breast, his mouth venture down to kiss the back of her neck.

He does those things now, like he’d wished he’d done 15 hours ago, and what does it matter since they got here, anyway?

“Oh god,” she gasps, pressing her mouth against the pillow. “Almost, almost.”

David trails his hand down her stomach until he reaches her swollen clit, rubbing with hard, quick strokes. She goes quiet and he hopes she’s nearly there because he can feel his balls tightening, ready to release after hours of pent-up longing.

Then she cries out, clenching around him and choking on frantic moans. David comes before she’s even finished, groaning long and low as he buries his face in her hair, pumping shallowly as he spurts inside her.

He stays there for a bit, stroking her arm and pressing a kiss to the freckle on her shoulder as their breathing evens out.

Eventually they take turns using the loo and then they collapse beneath the covers, Billie curling up in his arms.

She shivers and he laughs.

“Are you ever _not_ cold?”

She smiles, biting her lip.

“Wasn’t cold ten minutes ago.”

David reaches over the side of the bed and fishes around until he grabs his shirt from the floor. He hands it to her and she shimmies into it, and it’s too much -- her in his shirt, in his bed, smelling of sex and _him_. He’s not going to be able to walk away from this unscathed.

“Hey, you okay?”

She runs her fingers along his jaw and kisses his chin.

“Yeah,” he lies. “Just tired.”

Like last night, she falls asleep first; and though his thoughts are as heavy as her breathing, David isn’t far behind.

***

The alarm blares and David swats at the clock until it falls off the nightstand. Billie twists in his arms, threading her leg through his and lazily brushing her lips against his chest.

He squeezes her and kisses her temple, thinking that some other bloke will get to spend every morning like this for the rest of his life. He wishes it could be him.

They make love again unhurriedly, sleepily, and then doze until the room is too bright to sleep. There are whispered words and gentle caresses and David decides he’s never leaving this place, not ever, if only he could find a way.

Billie lifts his hand and kisses his palm, then brings it to her chest.

“About what you said, at the bonfire,” she says quietly. “I am leaving. It’s done.”

“I know.” He chuckles to himself, remembering drunken, sloppy words. “Just thought if I said it aloud…”

“Yeah. I get it.” Beneath his hand he thinks he feels her heart speed up. “But it sounded like… I mean, I thought you were gonna say something else.”

He props himself up on his elbow and studies her face, trying to work out why her features are laced with nerves.

“I- I meant something else.”

She smiles and exhales and he knows she understands. He kisses her, deep and slow, and he realizes that this -- whatever it is -- can be enough. She’s everything to everyone, but _he’s_ something to her, and there’s meaning in that, he thinks.

Yes, there’s meaning in that.

***

The burn on her wrist doesn’t leave a scar.

They don’t leave this thing between them in Scotland, but it doesn’t last long at home, though they let it linger longer than they should.

She breaks up with her boyfriend and marries someone else -- someone still not him -- and gets their wedding date etched onto her arm.

They have two chubby babies whose initials are inked into her skin in thin script behind her ear. She has brandings, she’ll say -- her whole life story written out for everyone to see.

But her first tattoo was a star.

It’s an oddly shaped thing on the inside of her wrist that she’ll tell people has no meaning -- she got it on a whim. Only he knows it’s the same shape as an old wound forged by scalding coffee spilled in a Glasgow hotel, one that didn’t blister because he looked after her.

It didn’t leave a mark but she needed it to, and so she made it permanent; a piece of him she’ll carry with her always.

And that, he reckons, is something.


End file.
